Don't Wait For Me
by Ai Tennshi
Summary: One day Keith visits Nadja with some news...
1. Don't Wait for Me

_Author's Note: I know that there aren't that many people on this site who know Nadja, but I hope that those who do know it will read this and like it…_

_Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or places._

**Don't Wait For Me**

"And now I present…our dancing girl who came dancing down to us from heaven, Nadja!"

There was a great cheer as the sixteen-year-old dancer stepped onto the stage wearing a light blue dress. Flowers of varying shades of blue—from dark blue roses that were almost black to sky blue chicories—were placed in the long hair that had been gathered to the top of her head and held in her hands. She was beautiful, but it was the kind look in her eyes and the gentle smile that captivated people.

A soft music started up, and Nadja began to move in time with it. Soft steps to the left, and then to the right, a few soft spins in between… And then the pace of the music began to quicken, and so did Nadja. Soft and quiet turns became swift double spins; gentle steps became leaps. She spun, leapt, skipped and twisted more and more quickly, her moves becoming more and more impressive, until the flowers in her hair, which had been pinned to do so, began to fly out towards the audience in the front of the crowd. At the music's fastest point, she leapt up and performed a quadruple spin, tossing the flowers in her hands to the audience in the back of the crowd as she landed on one knee in a bow at the center of the front of the stage just as the music came to an abrupt halt. The audience cheered wildly, and the dancing girl was showered with the coins the people threw onto the stage.

"I thought that she was so good that she couldn't possibly get any better when I saw her Flamenco," murmured Kennosuke, the sixteen-year-old samurai, to Rita, the lion-taming eight-year-old, where they stood backstage.

"Nadja gets better all the time," said Rita in a matter-of-fact tone. "She'll get even better than she is now."

Nadja was always the last act, so as she bowed and backed off stage, the Leader walked out to thank the crowd for coming. With one last wave at the crowd, she disappeared from their sight.

"I'm tired," the usually tireless girl sighed as she plopped down into one of the chairs under the shade of the tent and trees behind the car that was their stage.

"That's what you get for trying that kind of dance," Sylvie, the beautiful singer, said in a reproachful tone as she held out a glass of water. Nadja took it gratefully, giving Sylvie a sheepish glance. Though their ages were years apart, Sylvie was Nadja's closest friend and confidant. At times, the older woman confided in Nadja as well, but she seemed to prefer handling her own problems by herself. Though Nadja was also close friends with Kennosuke and Rita, Kennosuke was male, and therefore not easy to talk to about feminine problems, and disliked too much serious conversation. Rita, though fun to play with, was not yet old enough to talk about the sort of problems Nadja encountered at times.

"Nadja?"

Sylvie's concerned voice brought Nadja back to the present. Her smile was even more sheepish this time.

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"About a certain blond-haired man?" Sylvie asked, a subtle teasing note hidden in her voice. Nadja frowned reproachfully.

"Sylvie!" But Nadja burst out laughing in spite of everything. No one else would have understood the humor of what Sylvie had just said, but Nadja did. _A_ certain blond-haired man was certainly in her life. What the members of Troupe Dandelion had yet to figure out, however, was that there were two such young men, and both were courting her. They were subtle, for they knew that Nadja knew them both well and would tell whichever one she chose when she was ready.

"No, I was thinking about the Troupe," she said as her laughter died down. Before she could elaborate, however, she heard a familiar low voice calling her name.

"Francis!" called Rita, jumping up to meet him—she had become quite attached to the two men that she thought were one. Nadja looked up, and hid a smile behind her fingers at the sight of the twin that was _not_, in fact, named Francis.

It had been Keith who had wanted her not to tell anyone that there were two of them. Troupe Dandelion already knew of Francis Harcourt, the younger twin, but were not aware in the slightest of the existence of Keith Harcourt (except, perhaps, for old Granny, who had an uncanny knack for knowing things). Keith, who had quit his profession of stealing from the rich who obtained their money dishonestly and giving that to the poor and needy, had decided that his newly quiet life needed more excitement. Therefore, the first time that he had dropped by two years ago, when he had been called 'Francis', he did not correct them. At first Nadja had snapped at him, but when he told her that Francis knew of this and found the thought amusing as well, she had relented. She had, however, warned him that should anyone ever become suspicious, she would immediately tell them the truth.

Two years later, however, the entire Troupe had yet to voice any suspicion on the subject. Nadja found this quite bewildering, as she thought the twins' personalities to differ greatly.

"Beautiful dance, Nadja," he said, handing her a black rose—his trademark, even after ending the Black Rose. "Though I daresay it must have been tiring."

"Thank you, Keith," Nadja said with a smile as she took the rose. "It's beautiful."

"Would you like to walk?" Nadja replied by standing and taking his offered arm while holding the rose in her other hand. They walked in silence for some time before either spoke. It was Nadja who broke the silence.

"Is something wrong? You came only a week ago last, and usually you and Francis alternate."

He paused, and then looked down at her. She stopped her feet as well, looking up at him.

"Nadja," he said hesitatingly, "I'm not going to be able to come see you for a number of months after this, possibly even a year or two."

Before he could continue, Nadja was speaking.

"What? Why didn't you tell me last time, instead of at the last minute? Where are you going? _Why_ are you going?"

Keith saw the tears in Nadja's eyes and gave her an affectionate smile. She always had been sensitive. She made him feel wanted—needed—something he needed to feel since he had given up the Black Rose, once his sole purpose in life.

"Do you know much about Africa, Nadja?" he asked gently. Cautiously reaching out, he wiped away her tears. He knew that he was overstepping the bounds that he and his brother had agreed to keep until Nadja chose, but at that moment he was beyond caring.

Nadja shook her head in response.

"Well then, do you know that European countries have been trying to take Africa as their own for years now?"

"The colonies?"

"Yes. You see, some—quite a few, actually—are fighting for independence. So I'm going to go and see what I can do." All he received was a blank look from Nadja. With a smile, he sat down with his back to a tree in the small woods that they had entered, motioning for her to do the same.

"Parts of Africa have been being controlled by various European countries for an extremely long time," he explained. "And so Europeans have moved to Africa, and used the materials they found there. However, the Africans, who logically should own that land, have no say in the matter. Even when they split Africa up into various countries for themselves, Europeans gave no thought to the opinion of the Africans. Africans are all but slaves, you see. But now, people are starting to revolt—Africans are starting to fight to get their countries back. And Nadja…" Keith paused, not too sure how he should voice what he wanted to say. "Since I quit the Black Rose, I've had little to do. I'm a noble again, in a sense, but I travel around, spending as little time at the manor as possible, and trying to help people when I can. And I come to see you.

"But you know me, Nadja… At least, you should, after all we've been through." He sent a wry smile at her, which she returned with one of her bright, but unsure smiles. "I can't just travel around without any objectives. And I've always been against trying to help people when you yourself are set above them. But now…I think that I can help. I _want_ to help those people who have been treated unfairly for so long."

Nadja recognized the same passion that she had come to know in the Black Rose, and smiled in spite of herself.

"Well then, I wish you good luck, Keith. I'm sure that it will be hard, but I'm also sure that you'll achieve your goal. As long as I've known you, you've been capable of amazing things when you're passionate about it."

Keith looked at her, emotional turmoil evident in his eyes.

"I know the possibilities of what could happen, Nadja," he told her, his eyes meeting hers in a strong, steady gaze. "I know that while I'm there, there's a good chance that I could get killed—either by Africans who don't want the help of a European, or by Europeans when I help the Africans." He hesitated, averting his gaze for a moment. Then he sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet hers once more as he turned to face her and took one of her hands in his. "I also know that I could come back to find you married to my brother. When I went into hiding after ending the Black Rose, I asked him to wait for me to return to court you. But I can't ask that of him this time, when I don't even know if I'll be coming back."

Keith was taken completely by surprise when the girl threw herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly knocking him down. Wrapping his arms around her, he reflected that this was the first time that he had been truly allowed to hold her as himself, with no masks of any kind.

"Don't say that, Keith. You'll come back. And I'll still be here, waiting for you." The words were mumbled into his shoulder, but he heard them anyhow.

"You can't promise me that—you're still sixteen. You're young and beautiful. Francis will be the only one courting you, but weren't there three others…Kennosuke, TJ and Oliver, who liked you as well? Don't promise me anything Nadja. Don't wait for me."

He removed his arms from around her and reached up to remove her arms from around his neck. As he pulled away, he hesitated, then leaned forward again to briefly press his lips to her forehead before pulling away and standing.

"Come, Nadja. We should get back." She looked at the hand he offered her for a moment before taking it and letting him pull her up.

They walked back to Troupe Dandelion in silence. Just before they reached it, Keith stopped and took one of Nadja's hands in his own.

"Goodbye," he said, squeezing her hand lightly before letting it go.

"I'll miss you," Nadja murmured, almost inaudibly. He smiled brightly at her before turning and walking away.

VVVVVVVVVV

Nadja's mind was preoccupied as she walked back towards the rest of the Troupe. Sylvie was the first to see her and raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

"Back already? You two usually spend much longer together." The rest of the Troupe appeared interested as well.

"Keith's going away," Nadja said, not giving her words much thought. "He's not going to be back for a while, if he comes back at all."

"You know, Nadja," the Leader said in a light tone, "I've been wondering for a while…but why is it that you sometimes refer to him as Keith instead of Francis?"

"And he's always wearing black when you call him Keith," Rita added.

"You know, an interesting rumor reached my ears recently," said Sylvie lightly. "I hear that there are _two_ Harcourt twins—one of whom reappeared two years ago after being away for a long time. And somehow, I seem to recall that 'Francis' started wearing black two years ago…"

_Oops,_ thought Nadja—her only coherent thought at that moment.


	2. Don't Dance with Me

_Author's Note: And, at long last, here's the follow-up piece! This is set six years after the series (three years after Don't Wait for Me), when Nadja is 19 and Keith is 22. With that said, enjoy!_

**Don't Dance with Me**

It was Christmas day.

Keith stood listening to the music. It was a bright tune, one he would have normally liked. It was based on a hymn, as he recalled. It was beautiful, delicate, and there was a subtlety to it that he loved. In his mind, subtlety made the shadow; the shadow determined the quality.

But he hated it. He despised this tune above all others. So he had come out onto the balcony with a drink in an attempt to escape it. It was a favorite among this family, he knew. It always played at their balls. But he could not stand it. He would have loved it, if not for one little reason. As it was, he did his best to escape it.

He closed his eyes. How long had it been? Six years, he believed. So why couldn't he just let go? He wasn't going to be able to escape the tune unless he left the ball. He couldn't leave the ball. He hated the tune, but he loved her more. And she had asked him to stay, so he would. But he could not resist a feeble attempt to escape the tune. Even on the balcony, it flowed into his ears. He probably could descend the steps into the gardens, but he had seen a number of people go on moonlit walks.

He snorted. He knew the ways of the world. Nobles acted decent, but the moment they were in shadow, they were worse than anyone. He was ready to bet that that well-dressed young man and young lady that pretended to be lovers on a romantic stroll weren't lovers at all, but partners plotting something. And then there was the woman who had walked off with her husband's brother on a supposedly innocent walk. But he knew that look in the man's eyes as he looked at the woman, and the woman's eyes shared that look. They were probably in the shadow of a thicket somewhere, doing something even more indecent.

No, he wasn't about to enter the gardens when he had already judged over half of the ten or so couples out there to be frauds doing something else. Heaven forbid he should step into the middle of a secret scheme or forbidden tryst. He was better off torturing himself with this tune.

The tune just went on. No matter how he tried to tear his mind away from it, it just kept coming back. In fact, the harder he tried, the worse it became. No doubt _they_ were dancing together. No doubt the smiles on their faces were exactly the same as those smiles six years ago.

Why was he still here? Nadja had chosen Francis. She'd chosen him six years ago at that ball at the House of Harcourt, dancing to this very tune. What right did he have to go barging into that, even if Francis had said afterwards that she actually loved him—Keith? Francis was wrong. He never had been very sharp when it came to human emotion anyway. Nadja would choose him to the end. She was the sun; Francis was the light; and Keith…he was the shadow. The shadow never bathed in the warm glory of the sun. The shadow never felt the sun. The sun never saw the shadow.

But the shadow could see the sun. And it tortured him. He would watch over her, most possibly for the rest of his life. But she would never see him.

The tune went on behind him. He wished that it would stop. It reminded him of the day when she had chosen _him_—they had not even needed words, so well did their hearts connect.

But still, six years later, she was only stronger in Keith's heart than before. Why?

He had always known that he wasn't for her. He had almost had her at one point. But he had blown that chance; had left her on the pretense of needing to do something useful, thinking that it could teach him to live away from her—so that his heart would not break when she finally chose Francis for good. Because he had known that she would, at one point or another. Francis could keep her love and affection for life. But he was just a thief and rebel. The forbidden always had a sort of charm to it. Back when he had made the decision to go to Africa, he had known that she had been on the verge of choosing him; but he had also known that in the end, she would always go back to Francis. So he had wanted to escape gaining her only to lose her again.

But it hadn't worked. He had returned within a year, for he simply couldn't stand to be so far away from her. Maybe he would one day return to Africa, but not until…well, he didn't really know. When the raging desire to be by her side died down, he supposed. Not that it felt as though it would die at any time soon, but all fires had to die at some point, right?

So now he watched over her. If she asked him for something, he did it, no matter how he felt about the matter.

"Keith?"

His eyes widened in surprise. Nadja? But the waltz-

No. The tune had ended. He snorted to himself. Had he been too busy wallowing in self-pity to notice? That would definitely need improvement.

"Yes, Nadja?" he replied calmly as he turned around. All self-pity and sadness flew out the window at the sight of her face. It didn't matter that she was Francis's, because she hadn't chosen him yet. And even when she did, she was the sun. Seeing her was enough to feel the gentle warmth of her rays.

"Do you want to dance?"

This threw him completely off guard. He stared at her.

She had invited him to the Preminger Christmas Ball every year for the past five years—the one day every year when she ceased to be a dancing girl and became a noble lady with the family of her birth. But never had she asked him to dance in all these years.

He bowed his consent and offered her his hand.

He danced with her, reveling in the heavenly feeling. She was nineteen now. No doubt Francis would be asking for her hand in marriage soon—then he would be out of the picture. He would never dance like this with her again.

"Why do you come every year?"

He blinked, startled by her words.

"Because you invite me, of course."

"But you'd rather not be here." _What?_ How did she know that? "You're always out on the balcony, and you won't dance with anyone." _Ah._ "So why do you come if you'd rather not?"

"I'm dancing with you now, aren't I?" He tried to evade the question, futile though he knew it was.

"But you wouldn't have if I hadn't asked you."

_No. I wouldn't have. Because if the shadow touched the sun, it would be burned. The shadow can only gaze upon the sun in longing from afar._

"It's unorthodox for the lady to ask the gentleman, you know," he teased, concealing his gloom.

"Well, after six years of waiting for you to ask, I figured I might as well just ask you myself or be left waiting until I'm ninety." Her voice was huffy and annoyed, but her words distracted him. He almost stopped, but forced his feet to move on.

"You're always dancing with Francis," he pointed out to her. She gave him a withering look.

"And Antonio, Leonardo, Harvey, Kennosuke, TJ, Oliver, Christian, Leader, Arvell, Thomas…" The list went on, but he stopped listening.

Yes. She danced with every man she knew at least once. But she always danced with Francis more than the rest. So he pointed that out.

Nadja stared at him as though she couldn't understand him for a moment, then comprehension dawned on her face. It unsettled him. What was she realizing?

"Francis is my best friend." Her voice was sharp, and it made him stop. Or perhaps she stopped. It was rather hard to tell at that point. All Nadja knew was her frustration; all Keith knew was that she was glaring at him in a way that he had never seen her glare at anyone before—not even at her grandfather, and that man had received quite the death glare.

"But this is all your own fault, you know. If you hadn't played 'Mysterious Knight in Shining Armor' that first night, the confusion would never have occurred in the first place! You didn't even have to tell me that you were the Black Rose, just that your name was _Keith_ Harcourt! No—you could have even left out the Harcourt part and just told me that your name was 'Keith'! Do you have any idea how many problems that could have prevented?"

He opened his mouth to protest that he couldn't possibly just go around giving out his name when it suited him to be presumed dead. But Nadja went on. Her hands were now on her hips, and Keith was pretty sure that she was trying to the best of her ability to slaughter him a thousand times over with her glare.

"But you didn't! And even after you learned that I knew Francis, you didn't straighten things out. No, instead you pretended to _be_ Francis, and tried to confuse me even further! And as if that weren't enough, you courted me until sixteen, then suddenly went away. And just when I'm thinking that you'd changed your mind, you come back and start taking to watching my balcony like some sort of stalker!" Now, really, how did Nadja notice all these things? "But you won't have a thing to do with me, and you won't even ask me to dance! What are you trying to do? Murder me? Because you certainly could make me die a few times over of heart attacks! Don't you have _any_ sensitivity at all?!"

_Now, that was just plain rude. No sensitivity? Who is she to tell me that?_

"And you can say that?" Keith growled. Her eyes narrowed further.

"Yes, I can."

"Well then, let me tell you all about what _you've_ done! You spend all your time with Francis, and make no move in my direction-"

"No move in your direction! I've tried to talk to you numerous times when I sense you watching me from my balcony, but every time I go out, you just run away!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know that you knew I was there?"

"Why were you trying to hide at all?"

"I'd rather not get whacked over the head and called a stalker, thank you very much!"

"I wouldn't have!"

"You just did!"

But suddenly, the meaning of her words—past the accusations—sank into Keith's mind. He froze.

She was yelling something at him, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. All he knew was that she had chosen him. All along, she had already chosen and been waiting patiently for him to come around. For these six years, the whole time. Only, he had read the signs wrong and seen her choosing Francis.

Yes, it was definitely not a good idea to let jealousy rule your life. He really would have to do something about that. But first…

A waltz was flowing out onto the balcony.

"…and you _never_ bother to unmask yourself! Do you have any idea how _annoying_ that is? Are you still courting me or not? Just make that clear so that I can go on with my life without the confusion that you've kept me in for six years! _Six_ years, Keith! I don't know what you're trying to do, but all you've managed to do is-"

Her words broke off in surprise when she could only stare down at him. He looked up at her with serious eyes. There were vehement flames in her eyes, but they faded as she stared. He was on one knee, his right hand held out to her.

"I apologize for the delay, Fraulein." He spoke in a quiet voice that did not bother to mask all his relief, elation, joy, regret, ignominy, and everything else he was feeling at the moment. "Will you dance my waltz with me?"

She blinked, catching the stress on the 'my'. Tears filled her eyes. She knew what he meant. She remembered their conversation from long ago as well.

"Yes." Her voice was trembling with the tears that she refused to let leave her eyes, but it held a sure, unwavering undertone—never had she doubted that she would choose him.

_I really am a fool. How could I have failed to realize?_

She took his hand, and he smiled. He stood and pulled her to him, and they began to waltz. They danced much closer than propriety generally allowed and he buried his face in her hair. If her grandfather could have seen, he would have been livid at the way that they were defying the rules of society, but it didn't matter. They were alone on the balcony, outside of the ballroom where those rules prevailed, and they shared the same view of nobility and society anyway: all rules of noble society be damned.

"_It's odd, isn't it, Keith?"_

"_What is?"_

"_The way that people are so picky. Even if I dance well, if it's a dance that they've seen a lot, they aren't interested. But they also don't like it if it's too slow or too boring or too fast…"_

"_Everyone has their own preferences of everything, Nadja. Be it dancing or stories or songs or anything else. There isn't a single thing in the world that everyone will like."_

"_I know," she huffed with a stomp. "But I think that every dance is beautiful and shouldn't be slighted. Each dance is like a lifetime, you know."_

_Keith stared at her, uncomprehending._

"_When I dance a dance, I'm nervous in the beginning. Sometimes it's hard to start up. But then once the dance takes over inside me, I'm completely consumed by the dance. I stumble sometimes, but I usually pick up again. I didn't manage to pick up again once, and that was horrible… But at the end of a dance where I've danced with all I have, I'm disappointed that it's ending, but I have this feeling of completion inside me, like I've come to the end of something that was worthwhile. It's like a lifetime, don't you think?"_

_Keith chuckled._

"_So you think every lifetime is beautiful?"_

"_Of course! It's just that some people look at the wrong things. They say, it's too fast, it's too exciting. But a fast and exciting dance leaves me with a feeling of exhilaration at the end, because it's that much harder to manage the moves with beauty and grace when you're moving so fast, and so I feel like I've accomplished that much more when I'm done. And then people say, it's too slow, it's too boring. But no dance is boring. Slow movements take lots of concentration, because they're really hard to keep even and steady. It's really easy to stumble in a slow dance, and if you do, it's nearly impossible to cover up. But slow dances have difficult steps that are just as hard as those in fast dancing. Spinning faster and faster is amazing, but so is spinning slowly. It's much harder to complete a slow, steady turn without stumbling, did you know? So a slow dance leaves me exhausted and tired at the end, but I know that I've done something for myself, even if the audience didn't appreciate it as much as a fast dance."_

_Keith stared at Nadja. Then he suddenly smiled._

"_Then my favorite dance is the waltz."_

_Nadja looked at him questioningly._

"_In a waltz, you always move in time with your partner," Keith explained with a fond smile to the fifteen-year-old beside him. "Always together, always in time, always slow and steady without any hurry, and if one stumbles, the other keeps the movements going so that they don't both fall. It would be nice to live a lifetime in harmony with someone like that, wouldn't it?"_

_Nadja smiled brightly in agreement._

Author's Notes: And this is completed. At long last. Keith and Nadja together, and a nice, complete, uncomplicated ending. I know I said I'd make Don't Look for Me the sequel, but after a while I decided I just couldn't do it. It was too complicated and too tragic what I wanted to do to them, and the ending wouldn't have (couldn't have, actually) been happy, anyway.

Now, just as a gift to those of you who've bothered to read this, the next chapter is a random extra that I wrote. It's pointless and has nothing to do with anything, but I had fun writing it, so…


	3. Bonus: Looking for Me?

**Bonus: Looking for Me?**

"Look!"

"What? What is it?"

"Look! Out on the balcony."

A pause.

"Isn't that…Nadja Preminger?"

"With Francis Harcourt!"

"Why is he wearing black? I thought he was wearing white when I saw him earlier…"

"He must have brought a change of clothes that he changed into to propose to her."

"They're engaged?!"

"Well, Francis Harcourt's a proper young man. He wouldn't go that close to a young woman that wasn't his betrothed."

"But I thought that Francis Harcourt was engaged to Maryann Hamilton?"

"Who?"

"An English Duke."

"Must be one of those fake rumors."

"But Master Francis…"

"Yes?"

The two men spun around to see a young man of twenty-two clad in a white suit looking at them questioningly.

"M- Master Francis?"

"Yes?" Only one who knew Francis well could have picked up the beginnings of annoyance in his voice.

"But…but…you were just…"

The men looked around. Indeed, there was another Francis Harcourt out on the balcony dancing with Nadja Preminger.

"I…I think I'm…" Loss of consciousness prevented the man from completing that sentence.

"Jerry!!" The other man was quickly on his knees by his companion's side. "It's all right, you're not dead! Master Francis must be dead, he's a ghost—a split ghost, that must be why he's in two places at once—that's come to haunt us all… But a ghost can't hurt us, you're all right!" And he proceeded to begin to slap his friend repeatedly across the face.

Francis stared at the men a moment before walking away. He had no idea what they were so worked up about, but whatever it was, he was pretty sure that he was better off somewhere far, far away from them.

And then he chanced a glance in the direction that the men had looked.

Ah. Keith and Nadja. Finally.

Now, where was Maryann? She had been talking about planning their wedding for the past four years… Best tell her that she ought to put her plans into action quickly before the couple in question decided to elope…


End file.
